The Dripping of the Faint Hearted
by Yasona Black
Summary: The exterminator never found a mouse. The plumber never found anything wrong with the tap. The freak grew bigger. Vernon soon realized he'd have to call him boy. The neighbors couldn't know how much of a freak it was. Vernon-centric POV


Title: The Dripping of the Faint-Hearted  
Rating: Strong T  
Summary: "Over time, the scritching and the scratching sound dulled. The exterminator never found a mouse. The repair man never found a problem with the faucet. The thing grew bigger. Vernon soon realized he would have to call him 'boy'. The rest of the world couldn't know how much of a freak the thing was." A Vernon-centric POV on Harry.

Notes about this story: This is not a Vernon abuses the crap out of Harry fic, so if that's all you're interested in, you may as well turn back now. If you're still curious, let me point out that this deals with repetition, a lot of fragmented thoughts, and the way the mind works. It's a hugely experimental piece for me and I've worked on it for quite awhile.

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The Dripping of the Faint-Hearted

_Drip_

_Drip_

_Drip Drip_

_Drip_

Vernon Dursley rolled over uncomfortably in his sleep. He had woken up after having an unnatural dream about tabby cats with glasses reading the newspaper. He tried to shake it off, but the uneven dripping sound from the bathroom faucet refused to dry up and leave him in peace.

_Drip_

This was nonsense. The dream was just that. A dream. It had nothing to do with the strange cat staring at the sign all day long. There was probably a mouse or something. That was it. A mouse.

_Drip_

Tomorrow, he would fix the faucet; he had been putting it off for a while now, with spending his time working at Grunnings and helping raise his son. Ah, his son. Vernon inhaled deeply and smiled. Dudley was already going to be a strong lad; he already refused to take 'no' for an answer. He was boisterous, but Vernon wouldn't want some little pansy of a boy dressed in those strange fashions, like pink collared shirts. Pink was a girl's color. It would be quite unsuitable for any son of his.

Vernon shifted one more time, quelling the uneasy feeling with thoughts of his son. He would become a commanding presence, and strong in every way. Vernon drifted into a deep sleep.

The next morning, he woke up slowly, only barely registering his dear Petunia get out of bed. He heard her footsteps leave the room and go down stairs. Once again, the water from the tap started wrapping sinuously inside his head.

_Drip_

It was quiet for a moment and Vernon hoped to fall back to sleep if only for a couple extra minutes. But the quiet was only a prelude to what happened next.

He heard the door swing open and Petunia's scream echoed through the house. Half-asleep, Vernon yanked himself out of bed and ran downstairs. He wasn't sure what he expected, perhaps a murderer of some sort, but then that would've been out of place in Little Whinging. He took in his Petunia's stock-still stance, the way her chest heaved, and the way her hands shook.

Vernon proudly drew himself up and took a deep breath, puffing his chest to look more intimidating as he hurried to the door. He did not expect such a strange occurrence, a baby boy with jet black hair, his face screwed up as if he was about to cry. Which he did. The boy's wrinkled forehead was disfigured with a strange scar, almost like a lightning bolt. Whatever it was, it wasn't natural.

--------------------------

_Tick_

_Tick_

_Tick_

Vernon glared at the ticking clock. The black handle moved agonizingly slow, each tiny jump dedicated with an unbearably loud 'tick' in the thick silence.

Petunia's thin lips were twisted anxiously and she kept stopping herself from chewing her lip. Vernon looked at her worriedly, waiting for her to start, but he wanted an answer. He opened his mouth and Petunia held up a hand. Because he really had no other choice, Vernon waited. Petunia paced around the kitchen once more and went into the sitting room, the letter she was still holding gripped in her hands. Vernon assumed she was checking on the baby again. After she had brought the crying baby in, Petunia had hunted for one of Dudley's dummies and shoved it into the baby's mouth. Petunia walked back into the kitchen and sat down. She laid the crumpled paper on the table and smoothed it out.

"That boy," she began harshly, "is a freak."

Her words hung in the air and Vernon frowned. "What sort of freak? Like your sis…" he trailed off. Mentioning her sister and brother-in-law had always been out of the question. It was an unpleasant conversation topic, Petunia always said. 'Unnatural' and 'freakish' had been her two words of choice the few times she had mentioned her family.

"Like _her_," Petunia grated out. "That miserable wretch got herself killed because of her _freakishness_."

"Ran on the wrong side of the law, did she?" Vernon asked carefully. He wasn't the dumbest man in the world, but the eerie statements his wife kept making chilled him to the bone.

But Petunia didn't acknowledge Vernon's lighthearted phrase. She stood up and walked towards the sitting room. "And _she_ left us with _him_. That _freakish thing_."

Following his wife and staring down at the swathed baby, Vernon realized he hated it. That _thing_ was the cause of his wife's distress. It was the cause of all this commotion and Vernon knew, he _knew_, that this 'freak' would be trouble. Everything that was wrong since yesterday morning when he'd seen the tabby cat, was all that _freak's _fault. Suddenly, it wasn't even human anymore. The bundle of cloth merely encased something unnatural, the pink skin was like blistered skin and the garish scar consumed the thing's forehead.

"We'll get rid of it," Vernon said. "We'll drop it off at an orphanage. Someone else can take care of it."

"That bastard!" Petunia swore. "That bloody bastard! He didn't let me have anything, but oh! We can just drop Lily's freakish son here and expect me to feed and raise him. Why? Because we're _family_? I cut off ties with them and their freakish magic the minute I could," Petunia ranted.

Vernon's eyes widened. "Magic?" he asked breathlessly.

Petunia's jaw dropped as she turned to look at her husband. For a moment she looked lost, floundering in dry air, like a fish covered in sand, but then her eyes hardened and she spat, "Yes. _Magic_." She twisted the word so it sounded as dirty as 'freak'. "They were both freaks!"

"Hush, Petunia dear," Vernon said, "you'll wake Dudley."

"I'll not have him influencing Dudley. We'll keep them apart. Dudley will stay upstairs and we'll find a decent enough spot for _him_."

"Why not get rid of it?" Vernon asked. "And pretend like nothing ever happened?"

"We can't," Petunia said in a mix of anger and a touch of sadness. "It won't work," she said despondently.

"Why not?"

"You don't know their sort Vernon. They'll stop at nothing to get their way. And we're…we're just in their way."

--------------------------------------

Vernon ushered Petunia and a bleary-eyed Dudley out the door. It was grocery day anyway, and Petunia was only a couple hours off of her schedule. Vernon waved goodbye to Dudley, who barely registered it, and closed the door. Vernon then headed to the phone and called Grunnings to change his hours. Some poor lower level sucker could take his place just this once.

Hanging up the phone, Vernon peered into the sitting room. Still, in the middle was the cause of all their problems. Petunia had already stated that the upstairs was out, which only left the downstairs. The boy was small, yet his dominant place in the sitting room filled the room with an eerie buzzing, as if he...it…was begging for attention. The thing needed something small and out of the way. Vernon searched throughout the downstairs until he laid eyes upon the small cupboard under the stairs.

He swung open the door and started shoving the cleaner supplies to the sides of the cupboard. The Windolene glass cleaner fell. The top broke and the clear liquid spilled onto the floor. Vernon swore. He picked up the bottle and tossed it into the bin. He grabbed a dishcloth and carelessly mopped up the floor. Petunia would have a fit if the floor was ruined. He glanced over at the boy and back towards the damp floor. He allowed himself a small smile; maybe something, albeit a small something good, could come out of this.

Standing up, careful not to hit his head, Vernon backed out of the closet. He kicked the last couple of cleaning items to the side and turned towards the boy sucking on the dummy. He was noisily sucking away, his eyes were wide stretching the blemish to unnatural proportions and it was all Vernon could see. Such a freakish thing…child…The word didn't fit. Petunia was right, he was unnatural, freakish, and completely the wrong sort. He wouldn't have him influencing Dudley.

For a second, Vernon glanced to the door and wondered where the nearest orphanage was. Then he remembered the eerie tone in which Petunia said that they were 'in their way.' He would tread carefully. But that, that dummy was Dudley's. It was Dudley's dummy and Dudley wasn't quite finished with them yet. He walked the few steps to the boy and yanked the dummy from its mouth. The thing just stared. As Vernon went to the kitchen, it cried.

It was a monstrous thing, Vernon thought. Taking Dudley's dummy and spoiling it with his unnatural filth. He was a bad seed. A horrifying influence. He would make sure to beat it out of him. The crying grew louder, the shrill voice reverberating through Vernon's head.

Vernon's mouth twisted into a scowl. He tossed the dummy into the bin where it landed on top of the Windolene-soaked dishtowel Vernon mistakenly tossed. The crying grew even louder and the higher the pitch, the more furious Vernon became. The ungrateful wretch. He already had a roof under his head, the clothes on his back; he didn't need Dudley's stuff along with everything else. Back in the sitting room, he grabbed the boy and placed him on the floor in the cupboard. Vernon slammed the door shut and locked it, hoping it would drown out the noise.

Ignoring the rattling sound coming from the cupboard, Vernon went into the kitchen and started searching for something to eat. Among all the fuss, no one had had any time to eat or cook. He stared into the refrigerator wondering where to begin. The crying got louder. The thing needed to shut up. He couldn't focus. He couldn't even remember how to cook the bacon the crying was so loud and shrill. Vernon shook his head and grabbed the package of bacon.

Taking a knife, Vernon stabbed the package trying furiously to open it. The knife slipped and cut his finger. "Bloody hell!" Vernon swore, dropping the knife and for a moment, the crying stopped. The blood dripped onto the counter and Vernon mashed his teeth together. He clutched his finger and ran it under the tap. Taking his hand out, he turned off the faucet and dried his hands. The bleeding stopped and the crying began again. Vernon's heart pounded. That freakish thing. What did it do?

With a shaking hand, Vernon fetched the dummy from the garbage and went to the cupboard. The harsh and stinging cries grew louder the closer he came. Vernon unlocked and opened the door. Trying not to look at the thing he shoved the dummy in its mouth, the glass cleaner liquid and old pasta sauce and all. Slamming the door again, Vernon hurried away.

The door creaked. Vernon lurched to a stop, one heavy foot still suspended in the air. Almost comically, he turned to see the door open. His heart beat frantically and his mouth grew dry and thick. He set his wavering foot down towards the cupboard door.

One step. It was like wallowing through filth.

Two steps. His thick tongue felt hairy and thirsted for drink.

Three steps. Ominous of omens, the door creaked back and forth, just a bit.

Had anyone been a bit rational, they would've assumed the door had only been slammed too furiously, thus knocking it back open. But Vernon was a rational man. He was a rational man with an abnormal child stranded in his home. That child was something that wasn't supposed to be in his home; it wasn't normal and it wasn't proper. If that thing was going to grow up in his beloved home, it had better learn its place. And that had to start right now. Starting with the freakishness already happening.

With a sadistic smile and crazed eyes, Vernon peered at the bundled thing. It sucked away at the dummy as if trying to squirrel away food from the manufactured rubber. Its eyes were scrunched in a frustrated sort of perseverance and Vernon detested it. He wanted to smack the thing, but the air in the cupboard hummed and buzzed as if in a proverbial state of high and smacking it wouldn't help his case. Reaching through the weighted air itself felt unnatural…improper…

Furious, Vernon slammed the door shut. He leaned his weight into the door to keep it shut, and a moment later, he stood up satisfied and gave a grunt of approval. That would do. Perhaps the boy hadn't done anything. It was just the door rebounding. This time, Vernon walked away without any problems. He sat down at the table and shuffled through the paper. With an exaggerated sigh of relief, he pulled out the business section and began to read.

_Scrit_

_Scratch_

_Scrit_

_Scratch_

It was like a nail being dragged across a slim piece of pine. Or better yet, it was like a nail being scraped across a thin piece of metal, long and hard. Whatever the sound was like, it was irritating. It was that sort of mind boggling sound you try to place in the midst of your sleep and you can't so your ears gradually heighten to that sound, tattling to your mind that something's not quite right. Of course, Vernon had never gone to sleep all that well.

Petunia's off demeanor unnerved him and when she started crying in the middle of supper. Vernon wasn't able to comfort her. She shrugged off his advances and continuously blotted her eyes with a towel. The rest of the night she had been on the verge of tears, red eyes and shaking hands completed the look. She said nothing about the boy and Vernon refrained from commenting. When Petunia's ragged breathing had slowed and become even, Vernon allowed himself some peace, but his sleeping was wary; he would not have that thing in the closet suffocating them in their sleep. He found himself checking Petunia every so often, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of her bony chest, and soothing his mind with the assurance that she was still breathing. He also got up a couple of times and did the same to Dudley. All was calm.

_Scrit_

_Scratch_

_Scrit_

_Scratch_

All except for that.

A mouse, that's what it could be. A mouse scratching away at the walls, scurrying through the maze of wooden beams that kept the house standing. That was it. It was just a mouse.

_Scrit_

They had never had mice in the house before. Not before that thing arrived in the morning. Vernon jumped up in bed, jostling Petunia. Vernon looked over and saw that she was still asleep and he breathed a sigh of relief. Still, he had realized something, something of magnanimous proportions. The faucet had been fine since moving into Number Four, Privet Drive. It had never dripped infernally loud in the middle of the night. That thing had been placed on their doorstep in the middle of the night. It all fit; the dripping water from the tap, the door opening by itself, and now the mouse. It was all linked, all connected. In fact, Vernon was willing to bet that Petunia's puffy eyes were caused by some mischief the thing had stuck inside of her head. It was probably trying to make her feel guilty over some freak's death. Vernon laid back down. The thing was safely locked in the cupboard and had been locked in since he closed the door the second time. Pulling the blankets closer to him, Vernon sent off into a light sleep. Although he had found the link to all the odd things happening, it didn't make him feel much better.

And the _scrit scratch_ sound continued for the rest of the night.

--------------------------------------

Over time, the scritching and the scratching sound dulled. The exterminator never found a mouse. The repair man never found a problem with the faucet. The thing grew bigger. Vernon soon realized he would have to call him 'boy'. The rest of the world couldn't know how much of a freak the thing was.

It turned out, that the community learned it for themselves. The boy's demeanor, quiet and aloof, combined with the clothes that he just refused to take care of gave off an eerie feeling about him. How hard was it to keep one's clothes clean and decent? After all, Vernon gave the boy Dudley's clothes, which were only the best, and how did he repay them? By attracting grimy filth and ripping and shredding the clothes to their last available wear. It wasn't as if they were made of money. He refused to go out and spend money on clothes for the boy when the ones he had were perfectly fine.

But it wasn't just the clothes he destroyed. It was the unnatural circumstances that happened around the boy. One afternoon, his dutiful son Dudley came home blustering about how the boy had somehow changed the teacher's wig to a bright blue colour. It was the first time Dudley had mentioned the word magic without it pertaining to a show on the telly. It was one of the few times Vernon misplaced his anger towards his son. It took a few presents to make that mistake up and after that, Vernon made sure to latch his ire onto the boy who deserved it.

The next incident pertained to the boy climbing to the school roof. There was no way the boy was so athletic, he could just up to a rooftop in a matter of seconds. It was also a time where the word 'magic' was mentioned. He locked the boy in the cupboard for three days. In no way, shape, or form, was the word 'magic' ever to be mentioned in the Dursley household. They were to be an upstanding, proper, genteel household. They would have a normal home and the fact that they took in an orphan only gave them more charisma. The fact that they put up with and tried to teach the boy his place was an applauded effort. They were good people and Vernon knew that. Everyone on Privet Drive knew they were good people. And everyone on Privet Drive knew that the boy was a menace inflicted upon them by no-good alcoholics who died in a car crash. Everyone knew Vernon was a decent and proper man. Everyone knew that. And the community knew that there was something not quite right with the scarred boy in the Dursley household.

--------------------------------------------

The thing hunkered down in shadowy defeat, but its eyes burned fiercely as they turned towards the floor. Shoulders hunched, they met his reddened ears. His shallow breathing filled the enclosing space.

"Guess what comes next, boy," Vernon whispered cruelly.

The boy gave a fearful glance towards the cupboard.

"Right, you've got it. Your dumb brain can figure out that much can't it?" Vernon said as he shoved the boy into the cupboard. The stupid thing thought he could get away with getting onto the school roof, that he could explain it away as a pure accident. No one accidentally leaps to a roof and gets there. Vernon doubted that even that freak would accidentally do something like that. It knew what it was doing. It knew that it was trying burrow underneath his own skin, beneath Vernon's family's skin, until there was nothing left, but only itself. It was trying to take over. "And no meals for a week!" Vernon shouted. He would starve the thing again. Try and burn it out. Just like a dog.

The slamming of the door resounded through the household. Walking away, Vernon breathed a sigh of relief. He was getting him. He was getting rid of the freakishness. He mused for a moment when he realized how very quiet it was. There was no dripping from the tap. No abnormally loud ticking from the clock. And no insufferable scratching at the walls.

Vernon smiled.

He had broken it.

He had beaten the magic out of the boy.

He had broken it.

Broken.

As if he had demolished an ugly building.

Broken.

His eyes shined with glee.

He did it.

He broke the boy.

Beaten the boy.

Got rid of the magic.

Rid of it.

And with an uplifted spirit, Vernon set out to the rest of his day.

But night came as it always did and always will. The thing locked in the cupboard had only a slight sense of time due to the filtered light that seeped through the cracks. But heed was not paid to the creature locked inside. The family passed the small door without care and only a slight feeling of dread.

The family had gone to bed; Dudley was leaden with loud snores, Petunia's bony body ramrod straight, except for the rise and fall of her chest, and even Vernon had shuddered off into a deep sleep, pleased with how far he had come with the boy. He was nearly done. All he had to do was keep him hidden until he was old enough to stop mooching off of their hard work.

----------------------------------------

"Bad news, Vernon," Petunia said.

Vernon clenched his teeth. Today was not a good day for bad news. It was Dudley's birthday and everything had to be in order for his birthday. Dudley had earned it, what with putting up with the freak all these years, trying to help beat the magic out of it. He was a smart boy.

"Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take him," Petunia continued, gesturing sharply at the boy.

Vernon's mind raced as he saw Dudley look of displeasure twist into his face. That evil, conniving little freak. It wasn't enough that the old lady watched the hooligan on Dudley's birthday every year. No. He had to get rid of her too.

"Now what?" Petunia asked, looking furiously at the boy. Vernon could tell that she blamed the boy also. Why wouldn't she? It was all his fault.

"We could phone Marge," Vernon suggested. If nothing else, Marge would keep the boy in line…or at least sic Ripper on him.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy."

"What about what's-her-name, your friend – Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca," Petunia snapped.

The boy's fault. All his fault.

"You could just leave me here," the boy said. It was a twisted sentence. Leave it in the house alone? With the ticking and the dripping and the scratching? Was it mad.

_Yes._ The word tickled at him. _Of course he's mad. He's not like us normal folk. Normal folk would wait for adults to decide the matters. He's obviously riddled with a freakish ailment._

Yes. He was mad. And Petunia knew it too.

"And come back and find the house in ruins?"

Of course. Of course, that would be what would happen. The house would be ruined and the boy would be perfectly fine with his freakishness.

"I won't blow up the house."

A niggle of voice. Nothing to be trifled with.

Petunia gritted her teeth and took a slow breath. "I suppose we could take him to the zoo," she said slowly, afraid to even suggest the possibility. "…and leave him in the car…"

In the car.

In the car.

He had just bought that car.

"That car's new; he's not sitting in it alone…"

He's not going to blow it up. Nor would the freak taint his car with his abnormality.

Within moments everything had gone to Hell, so to speak. Dudley began wailing and Petunia rushed to comfort him.

"He always spoils everything!" Dudley heaved.

He always spoiled everything. Dudley had gotten it all in one.

He always spoiled everything.

Always.

Spoiled.

Everything.

Only a freak _trying_ to do that _would_ spoil everything.

Everything.

As if right on cue, the doorbell rang.

"Oh good lord! They're here!" Petunia said frantically.

The minute Dudley's friends walked through the door, his wailing stopped at once. Good boy, that Dudley. He managed to gain control of himself and saved his face among his friends. He would go far with such an attitude.

The freak wouldn't.

While Petunia ushered Dudley and Piers out the door, Vernon grabbed the boy and pulled him aside. "I'm warning you," he said, putting his face as close to the freak as he dared, "I'm warning you now, boy – any funny business, anything at all – and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."

"I'm not going to do anything," the freak whined, "honestly…"

Vernon snorted. The thing tried so hard to lie. He always lied, blaming things on Dudley, promising that he wouldn't use his freakishness to destroy everything, when every night, he played with his freakish nature.

They piled into the car and Vernon tried to ignore the boy. A motorcycle raced past them at breakneck speed. "Those crazy kids, roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he ranted.

"I had a dream about a motorcycle," the boy piped up.

What now? It couldn't keep its mouth shut for only a few moments?

"It was flying."

"MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"

How dare he? Believing such freakishness. He tried to beat it out of him, he tried and tried. He locked him up, kept him away from influencing others, and even tried to starve it out of him. This is what he gets? The boy spouting nonsense, that any normal person would've kept quiet.

"I know they don't. It was only a dream."

Only a dream. And he still couldn't keep his mouth shut. Luckily, once they had all piled out of the car, the boy was smart enough to hang back from the rest of the normal folks. Vernon paid for chocolate ice creams for Dudley and Piers, but the boy had hung back far enough for the server to ask him if he wanted anything. Vernon froze. She didn't know; how could she? The freak's near skeletal size compared to Dudley's well-fed muscle would raise questions if the boy wasn't seen eating anything. He quickly scanned the menu for the cheapest item; he'd be damned if he spent more money on the boy.

"He'll have the lemon ice pop," Vernon said hurriedly, handing her the money.

The boy's eyes grew wide as he received the ice pop. Vernon glared, and the boy shifted, and the surprise diminished.

The day had been going well; the freak was almost nonexistent, and Dudley and Piers had been enjoying themselves. Of course, by lunchtime, they seemed to be getting tired. Food, Vernon thought. That would perk the two up and Vernon herded them into the zoo restaurant.

"That's not enough ice cream! I need more!" Dudley shouted after a minute of staring at his knickerbocker glory.

"Shush, Dudley," Petunia began. "We'll get you another one," she finished looking around at the other customers.

Vernon called the waitress over and told her to bring another one, but to make sure it had twice the amount of ice cream on top. After the waitress brought the second one, Vernon shoved the first towards the boy. At this rate, the thing was going to be waddling around. Ah well, Vernon reasoned, they would be home soon. The reptile house would be their last stop.

-----------------------------------

"Make it move," Dudley whined.

Vernon tapped on the glass, hoping that the giant reptile would move for his Dudley. It didn't.

"Do it again."

Vernon knocked harder this time, but the snake didn't wake.

"This is boring," Dudley said with a huff as he walked away.

In fact, many of the reptiles were snoozing or just uninteresting. This was supposed to be the highlight of Dudley's day, and yet, everything was just…uninteresting. Vernon and Petunia followed Dudley as he walked around, continuously rapping on the glass to wake the reptiles up to no avail.

"DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T _BELIEVE_ WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Dudley ran over back to the snake, pushing the boy out of his way. Had Vernon been focused on Dudley at that point, he would've surmised the power his Dudley had learned, the power that comes from being an upstanding force in the business world. Of course, the shock and excitement in Piers' voice could only result from one thing, and one thing only: the boy. So Vernon followed Dudley, keeping an eye on the sprawled form of the boy, peeking at his son and Piers press their faces against the glass. Such curiosity, Vernon thought with a grin, but he barely had time to envision his tyke as an older gentleman before the glass disappeared.

Vernon's eyes widened. The glass had disappeared! Dudly and Piers fell forward into the habitat as the snake slithered out into the screaming crowd.

"Harry was talking to it," Piers said later in the car.

Vernon clamped the steering wheel.

"Harry was talking to it."

"Talking to it."

"Harry."

"Harry was talking to it."

Vernon did not look towards the backseat once. They dropped off Piers and Vernon waited in the car as Dudley and Petunia got out at Privet Drive. The thing was unusually slow in getting out. A part of Vernon cheered at the fact that the boy knew he was in trouble. The other part squirmed in disgust. Of course, it knew, Vernon thought. The freakish thing was always trouble.

Always trouble.

Always.

With a raging chorus of emotions, Vernon grabbed the thing's shoulder and herded him inside and towards the cupboard.

"Go – cupboard – stay – no meals," he ground out, tossing him in.

He then fell into the closest chair. "Brandy," he said to Petunia. Tonight would be a riot, and he would do his damnest to keep all the freakishness at bay.

And he kept the freakishness at bay. There were no sounds, no infernal ticking, or scratching, or dripping. In fact, Vernon had fallen asleep heavily and the only problems were in his dreams. While the noise was one matter, the dreams were another. He dreamt of the zoo, namely the Reptile House. Within those dreams encompassed Dudley in a fine, upstanding business suit, with a vibrant red tie, as he walked around the reptiles. Dudley focused on one reptile in particular. A very large snake. Suddenly, a half-crazed lunatic, with mussed up black hair, and wild green eyes ran at Dudley pushing him forward into the glass. The glass shattered and Dudley fell inside the habitat. The glass wall simultaneously built itself back up, and the snake curled around Dudley. Vernon ran forward, pounding at the glass. But nothing helped. The snake continued squeezing and the lunatic laughed harshly. A laughter that haunted Vernon when he woke up early that morning, having no memory of the dream, but only the lingering laugh. Luckily, the eerie sound dissipated by the time he had four slices of bacon at breakfast.

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So many bloody letters! Vernon grinned when he realized that the boy hadn't been able to snatch a single one. How about that for freakish powers? Of course, the subject had been brought up that the boy actually thought that the cupboard was his. That had been the turning point. Nothing of theirs belonged to that freak. So, they placed the boy in Dudley's second bedroom and left all of Dudley's broken toys in there to remind the freak that it wasn't his room. Petunia had agreed, also reasoning that the older freaks were watching, and it wouldn't do to keep the thing in their cupboard.

Of course, the boy was gone know. He was off searching for Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Such a stupid boy, Vernon thought. Well, he wasn't going to go pick him up until he had to. And that wouldn't be for a very long time.

As much as it annoyed Vernon to see the boy delighted, he had to admit that with the boy being gone, they could be a proper family again. They could love each other like a family should. They could love each other without fear and away from freakish eyes.

-----------------------------------

But Vernon was a reasonable man, or so he believed. The boy would come back. Every summer until he was seventeen he would come back and interrupt their life. Every summer, all semblance of normality would be ruptured and the freak would haunt their waking moments.

But since Vernon was a reasonable man, he knew better than to spend the schooling term worrying about the freak. He would have his peace and sanity far away from the freakish brat in freakish Scotland. The house was silent.

Of course, the day came in which he had to pick the freak up and that's how he found himself standing in between Platforms Nine and Ten. There the boy was, holding that damned owl in view of all the normal folk, brandishing it proudly, as if he had done something wonderful. An awkward, red-haired boy stood next to him, smiling and talking with the boy. _They're breeding,_ Vernon thought before shrugging it off. _Well, not breeding, but they're surely in cahoots. They're not even going to wait for the best time to strike; they're doing it right now, planning on harming you and you're family. You can't let them harm your family. Can't let it destroy Dudley and Petunia._

"You must be Harry's family!" a rather large woman said excitedly.

_Family._

No.

"In a manner of speaking," Vernon said gritting his teeth. Watching the boy take his time, he glared and yelled, "Hurry up, boy, we haven't got all day." Of course, the stupid freak had forgotten his place and continued straying behind. Fine. If the boy didn't want to come, that was fine with him. Vernon walked away. To his disappointment, the boy eventually tagged along, staying a good three feet or so behind them.

Only five more summers.

He would protect his family.

------------------------------------------------

_Drip_

_Drip_

_Drip_

Vernon bolted straight up in bed. The faucet had not leaked once the whole time the freak was gone. Now the freak was back, and the faucet was dripping. His eyes scanned the room wildly and he tried to calm his frantic breathing.

He crawled out of bed and slowly walked down the stairs.

_Scrit_

A subtle sound. Barely noticeable.

_Scratch_

Longer. Louder.

The closer he got to the cupboard door, the louder the sound became.

_SCRIT_

_SCRATCH_

He fumbled for the key to the padlock. With a shaking hand he pulled it out of his pajama pants pocket. Sticking the key in, he turned it.

_CLICK._

Vernon paused, the hairs on his neck tingling. It couldn't have been that loud. It was just his nerves. That's it. Just nerves, he thought.

He opened the door.

The freak was in there, hunched over something rather large. His bony body was bent at razor-sharp angles and the freak slowly turned his head. The taped glasses dwarfed his pointy face, but that wasn't what unnerved Vernon the most. It wasn't even the oddly swirling eyes of nauseating green. It was the blood that dribbled from the corners of his mouth. The blood that soaked the thing's hands, its clothes, and the walls of the tiny cupboard.

Vernon slowly backed away. "What have you done?"

The thing grinned as it walked out of the closet. It looked at Vernon and glanced towards the cupboard. Cocking its head, the thing reached back into the closet and seized the bloody bundle.

_Clunk._

The bundle was carelessly pulled off the cot and dragged in front of Vernon.

_Was that blond hair?_

"What are you?" Vernon asked breathlessly, his eyes still on the bundle before him.

The voice that answered was harsh and slithery. "I could've been him," it said.

_Him?_

It laughed the same laugh that had chilled Vernon that one night. He had never completely rid himself of that sound.

"I could've been like your son."

_Son?_

"This chap right here," it said, grabbing the bundle and lifting part of it up.

Vernon didn't move. He just stared at the wide eyes of his son. He couldn't stare at anything else. He couldn't force himself to come to the realization that the head wasn't attached, that the bundle was actually a mess of human skin and bones. He could only stare at the wide, unfocused blue eyes of his precious son.

"You're SICK! YOU SICK TWISTED BASTARD! AFTER ALL WE'VE DONE FOR YOU! PUTTING UP WITH YOUR FREAKISHNESS. LETTING YOU LIVE UNDER OUR ROOF! YOU DISGUSTING PIECE OF FILTH! I'LL KILL YOU!"

"I could've been him! Don't you see? We're exactly the same."

It lifted the head and placed it next to his own. "See?" it asked, moving the head in front of him and back again.

"We're the same."

It tossed the head at Vernon and Dudley's blue eyes were the last thing he saw.

Vernon's eyes snapped open and he jumped out of bed. There was Petunia, still sleeping, her snores music to his ears. He hurried out of the room and headed to Dudley's room. He opened the door and saw nothing. The room had been converted into a study, his own carefully organized desk stood dominating the room. Dudley had moved out eight years ago, starting his own family.

Vernon closed the door and headed downstairs.

_Tick_

_Tock_

_Tick_

The clock ticked in the background, but it wasn't the unbearable scratching noise that had led to the horror. Still, it was loud and agonizingly familiar. He dug into his pocket for the key, before realizing that the lock was long gone and the cupboard had been converted back to its proper usage. The cot had been burned and the cleaning supplies now had more room.

He opened the door and let out his breath when he could only see the cleaning supplies. Much better.

"_But surely you know where your nephew is going?"_

"_Certainly we know. He's off with some of your lot, isn't he?"_

The freak was gone. He had been for a while.

But so was Dudley. All those years he spent counting down to the freak's departure, he forgot that one year later, Dudley would be gone. And he never expected his wonderful son to _want_ to hang out with those freaks. But he did.

Unbidden, the image of Dudley's face came to him again. Vernon shivered and vowed to call Dudley in the morning and lumbered back to bed.

When the dripping began again, he ignored it. When the ticking of the clock grew unbearably loud, he pressed his pillow against his head. And when the scritching and the scratching sound began again, he gritted his teeth and tried to force it out of his head. But it was the drip drip of the faucet that was closest.

And the ticking, the ticking, the infernal tick tock of the blasted clock burrowed glumly into his head. But no, it wasn't just the ticking, the tap jumped into it too. The oddly rhythmic _drip drip_ from the faucet latched hands with the ticking of the clock. For every _tick tick_ there was a _drip drip_. For every _drip drip_ there was a _tick tick_. Then came the scrit scratch of the nail scraping metal.

Tick tick

Drip drip

Scrit scratch

Tick tick

Drip drip

Scrit scratch

Joining together, the sounds formed a cacophony of diluted music sheering through his head. He tossed and turned. Huffed and puffed. Heavy blankets entangled his beefy body. Vernon mashed his arms against his head and shoved his head deeper into the pillow.

The freakish thing. Even far away, the boy pandered to him, digging through his skin as if he could step right into the folds. It had to be the freak. After all he had done, after all that he had given the boy. After Dudley had been so morally altruistic to keep in contact with such a creature, this was what the freak did. It was all the freak's fault. Always. Nothing else could attest to such horror. Nothing.

"_I could've been him."_

"_But surely you know where your nephew is going?"_

"_I could've been him! Don't you see?"_

"_We're exactly the same!"_

_Tick drip tick scratch tick scrit_

_Drip_

_Drip_

"_We're the same."_

-

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A/N: Please review. Constructive criticism is extremely appreciated.

Also, this story is still currently in the beta-ing process, but it has been a few months since I heard from my beta, so I've checked this over a few times myself.


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